


The English Vice

by Adina



Category: PG Wodehouse - Jeeves and Wooster
Genre: BDSM, M/M, Yuletide, challenge:Yuletide 2007, recipient:Katherine Tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-25
Updated: 2007-12-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 21:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/255186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adina/pseuds/Adina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surely there is some explanation of why Bertie accepts so much from Jeeves. Google "English vice" if you want warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The English Vice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katherine_tag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine_tag/gifts).



"Really, Jeeves, that was hardly necessary," I said when my man entered the bedroom to bring me my tea. I was not, of course, referring to the morning tea or the eggs and b. sure to follow.

"Indeed, sir?"

That was a warning. I had about three 'Indeed, sir?'s before Jeeves became the consummate gentleman's gentleman, and after that only a groveling apology would bring my Jeeves back (though a particularly garish tie could also sometimes turn the trick). I wasn't ready to surrender yet, however.

"Dash it all, Jeeves! My nearest and dearest once again think me a candidate for the finer grade of loony bin, the sort of place that's been giving Colney Hatch a run for its money lately!"

Hang about a m., you haven't the foggiest notion of what I'm talking about, have you? Suffice to say that Jeeves had once more extracted the young master from the matrimonial soup. Wedding bells would not ring out for Honoria Glossop and Bertram Wooster, nor need I stand at the altar and listen to the Breath That Breathed O'er Eden. Unfortunately this happy eventuality was achieved at the expense of yours truly being caught at three o'clock in the morning removing lady's undergarments from what, owing to a trifling error of direction, turned out to be my Aunt Dahlia's bedroom.

"I regret having caused you embarrassment, sir," Jeeves said in his fruitiest voice. "It was necessary to convince Miss Glossop of your--" He coughed delicately. "--unsuitability. Since you friendship with Sir Roderick has reassured him of your sanity, it has left Lady Glossop free to push the match." He gave another little cough. "You are, of course, a highly desirable matrimonial prospect."

"But dash it all, Jeeves," I protested again, only to stop when I saw the look in his eyes. He had enjoyed my discomfiture and he was enjoying my protests now. My groin tightened in response. He knew it, too, blast it.

He took the tea cup from my unresisting hands. "I think, sir," he said as he stripped away the concealing blankets and sheet, "that your protests are perhaps not as sincere as they might be." He ran his hand over my erect cock, currently tenting the front of my lemon-yellow pyjamas, and raised an eyebrow. I remained very still. If I moved or made a sound he would stop. "I wonder," he whispered, fondling me through the cloth, "whether you enjoyed stealing your aunt's undergarments." I flushed at the unfair accusation, the shame burning as hot as the touch of his hand. He chuckled, a low, evil sound. "You don't protest, sir. Perhaps then it is true."

He stood and left, returning with a pair of scissors just when I started to fear he wouldn't come back.

"You haven't moved," Jeeves said with an approving smile that, along with the scissors, made me tense in happy anticipation. "Very good, sir!" Lifting a fold of cloth at my groin, he cut through it, forming a hole that he pushed down around my cock, leaving it to fly over a field of yellow like that banner bearing the strange device Excelsior. The lemon-yellow pyjamas had been a bone of--what are things bones of?--a bone of contention between Jeeves and me since I bought the first pair. The colour offended Jeeves's sensibilities and he took every opportunity to deface them, which was, of course, why I kept replacing them.

After making his alterations Jeeves set the scissors on my chest as a promise of more to come. He wrapped his hand around my exposed cock, the heat that much more intense without the intervening cloth. He rubbed his thumb across its head, and then pinched lightly at the tip. He tightened his grip, watching my face avidly as I arched off the bed to avoid the pain, or to seek more, even I couldn't say which. I kept my eyes on his face, the hunger in his eyes drawing my pleasure and pain ever higher.

"One cannot blame Miss Glossop, of course," Jeeves said conversationally, but without slackening his grip. "You are an attractive young gentleman, after all, and most agreeably biddable. Did you think to allow her to command you?" If anything his grip tightened. "Do you think she would indulge you in this fashion? Is that why you were flirting with her?" He never let anger show in his voice or on his face.

My eyes watered with pain and the accusation. "No! Jeeves, please--" I begged. "Only you!" From his frowning visage I knew I should not have spoken.

He studied me with lifted brow for a long moment as I fought to still my babbling. Aunt after aunt after schoolmaster has called me a blithering idiot, but only Jeeves has ever silenced me, with nothing more than that brow. "Very well, sir," he said at last, releasing his grip. Relief was almost more unbearable than the pain. He soothed my aching cock with a gentle thumb, rubbing softly over the reddened skin. I contained a moan with some difficulty. He lifted the scissors from my chest. "If you would be so good as to turn over?"

I turned over with--Jeeves would know what I turned over with. Starts with an ac. Acrimony? No. Alacrity! I turned over with alacrity, groaning softly as my cock rubbed against the linen sheets.

Jeeves had first caned me after I proposed to Veronica Wedge, as big as ding-bell as ever sported an impressive espaglier in all of merrie olde England. After successfully disengaging me from her clutches and those of her mother, he gave me six of the juiciest that sting like an adder and bite like an asp. Since then he has given them to me whenever he feels I deserve them, which is to say when I've been very good and very bad.

Jeeves hummed quietly as he cut away the seat the l.y. pyjamas, much as he did when ironing my trousers. I readied myself as best I could. The headmaster of Malvern-on-the-sea taught me to take a caning quietly; Biffy Thorgood, the prefect in my House, taught me to enjoy it--if enjoy was the right word, because dash it all, it still hurt.

"Are you ready, sir?" Jeeves asked when he had my nether quarter bared to his satisfaction. He always asked and I always felt like a bally fool answering. We both knew I wanted this, but one doesn't like saying so.

Jeeves waited and I knew he wouldn't start until I spoke. "Right ho, Jeeves."

The first blow was hard: Jeeves didn't believe in starting gentle. I swallowed a moan and clutched at the bed clothes as heat spread through my body. The second blow was worse, and better, laying a second line of fire parallel to the first. By the fifth I was biting my pillow to stifle my yelps, my cock almost as much on fire as my backside. After the sixth I relaxed, floating on a blissful haze of pain and lust, knowing the caning was over, wondering what was to come.

I nearly cried out when a wet finger touched my arse, but not with pain. Jeeves wouldn't always bugger me after a caning, but if I took it well he usually obliged. The slippery finger broached me without so much as a by your leave, but I welcomed it like one of the concubines welcoming King Solomon, spreading my legs wider to give it the greatest access.

"So wanton, sir," Jeeves said, a hint of emotion spoiling his calm demeanor. "I do believe you would allow anyone to bugger you in this state." His finger pressed hard against the good spot, making me lift off the bed to get more. I mewled and gasped. "Shall I call Mr. Little to fuck you, sir?" he asked as casually as if asking where I would dine the next day. "Or perhaps Lord Chuffnell?"

"No! No, please, Jeeves," I begged, knowing I could speak now, knowing he wanted to hear me beg. "Only you. Please, fuck me, fuck me now!"

"As you wish, sir." His one finger was joined by another, less gentle than the first. My arse burned with the stretching and I squirmed, earning me a swat on the rear that I would have hardly felt under normal circumstances. The pain drove my cock into the mattress, adding yet another kind of torture to the torment of my arse.

Jeeves took mercy on me, not drawing out his preparations as long as he often did. I felt the bed shift, the touch of his cock at my entrance for only a moment before he drove it home. The pleasure/pain of an overfull arse and the slap of his balls against my reddened cheeks drew a shout from my throat, "Jeeves!"

The shout drove him to a frenzy, pulling almost all the way out, only to slam back into me, hitting the good spot over and over until I could hardly hold back my explosion. "Come for me, sir," Jeeves said when I thought I couldn't bear any more without disgracing myself, and I did, yelling loud enough to be heard in Basingstoke.

With a soft groan Jeeves came in my arse, collapsing across my back. I lay under him until he softened and slipped out of me. Getting up he covered me with the sheet and blanket again.

"I fear your pyjamas may be ruined, sir," he said softly as he withdrew.

  



End file.
